Tales from the Gridiron
by Gridey
Summary: A collection of unrelated shorts collated for your convenience, all detailing the happenings in the lives of our favourite amefuto stars. Rated for safety and for future chapters.
1. Body Language

**Theme:** Body Language

**Characters:** Hiruma, Sena, others mentioned

**Warnings:** Non-explicit shonen-ai

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Hiruma was very familiar with body language and what it revealed about people. He saw muscles tense and postures shift and pupils dilate and let conclusions and implications flit across his mind's eye like solving mathematical equations, and he just _knew_. Knew when he could barrel ahead, knew when some black-book incentive was needed, knew when to press that little bit harder, knew when to pull back, because broken toys were no fun… He knew what the unconscious said when the mouth was lying. Popping a bubble of gum he watched Sena now, carefully, over the top of an amefuto magazine.

Since Hiruma and the other third years had graduated Sena had taken over as Devilbat captain, in name at least, though the prestigious title was pretty meaningless when Hiruma was around every other day cackling and firing his weapons and making everyone, Sena included, run various courses around the football field until they were panting and collapsed in the dirt. But Hiruma had to admit that, while still a massive softie at heart, Sena had grown into his leadership role splendidly. Sena carried himself now with a calm assurance that had been severely lacking in his fifteen-year-old self, and it showed, now, as Sena came out of the locker room in his now-typical 'camera wear' to address a reporter who had sat in on the training. What the little running-back wore was comfortable but still professional, and most importantly it covered his neck. While it might not mean anything to anyone else the wardrobe change amused and intrigued Hiruma, because a bared collar clearly showed that the wearer was trusting and open; after all, the throat is very vulnerable. Revealed it suggests harmlessness, an invitation to approach. Now Sena's shirt collar covered his neck completely, as businessmen and the like often did with their ties and button-up shirt collars to suggest formality and strength. He noticed the way Sena nodded and smiled to dismiss the female reporter – who floated away, starry-eyed – and turned back to his team. He was liberal with his praise for them, and as Hiruma watched he grinned at Monta, tilting his head to the side. _I approve of you_, Hiruma interpreted.

Sena smiled warmly at a first year, but then the little upstart said something Sena apparently disagreed with. Sena placed his hands on his hips, with his thumbs to the back, Hiruma noticed. Were he to stand with his thumbs forward it would indicate uncertainty, but the way Sena evened his weight, spread his legs to shoulder width, and bowed his elbows so that his upper body expanded to visibly confirm his authority, all told the watching Hiruma that the boy was getting defensive… And oh sweet fuck, did he just cock an eyebrow, too?! Hiruma noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that the first year stepped back at this, his lips a thin line as he lowered his gaze from the indignant Sena's. Good. Paired, the gestures indicated submission. Hiruma cackled under his breath. _Very _good. Sena was too talented and had worked too hard to be getting lip from that little shit.

Just then, as Hiruma watched, Suzuna skated sedately up behind Sena and, grinning wickedly, flung her arms around his waist in an unexpected hug. Even from where he was sitting away in the bleachers Hiruma heard the shriek of surprise, and sniggered to himself. Suzuna had been running (well, skating) back and forth all day, and it showed in the relatively subdued greeting the normally exuberant girl had given. Looking closely at Sena now, as he tried to pry the skinny arms from his waist, Hiruma could see the concealed weariness that bowed his spine slightly, and the way he constantly shifted his weight from foot-to-foot now that the first year had appealed to his subconscious demand for dominance. Sena was exhausted as well.

Hiruma leant forward now, no longer bothering with the magazine he still clutched in one long-fingered hand. He watched with more focus than he cared to admit as Sena and Suzuna, who were rumoured by some to be secretly dating, interacted.

Sena had managed to extricate himself and now the pair were chatting in a more civilised manner. As Hiruma watched Sena's head tilted forward toward Suzuna, and the older teen tensed. So far, _not_ good. The head tilt meant that Sena in the very least respected the cheerleader, and was interested in what she had to say. Hiruma watched on, focusing so intently his eyes ached.

Suzuna began to speak, and Sena leant forward slightly, attentive. However, he then folded his arms tightly across his midsection, a sign of nerves and frustration. At this distance Hiruma couldn't tell whether or not the frustration was because of what Suzuna said or because of her presence.

Hiruma paused, then let his mouth split into a wide grin that revealed his pointed teeth. Pleased chuckles reverberated deep in his chest then burst forth as demonic laughter, because, as he watched, Sena did everything in his power to keep the excitable girl a polite distance away. The runingback's discreet little sidesteps and closed posture all served to reinforce Sena's authority on the turf, and also suggested that the girl was _unworthy_ of being here, in Sena's presence, on the field where he reigned. Sena would probably be _horrified_ if he realised what his stance and cautious distance suggested, but it was all done subconsciously, and the subconscious cannot lie. Ignoring the wary looks being shot his way by the rest of the Devilbat rabble Hiruma cackled loudly and triumphantly, and, finally throwing down his magazine, unfolded his gangled limbs so he could stand and make his way, grinning a smile that had an unholy light, to the field. He made sure to turn his torso toward Sena and lock eyes with him as he approached, and felt something hot and dangerous spark inside him when Sena, blushing lightly, turned his torso to face Hiruma as well. Without ever dropping the eye contact, and so implying that Sena was exempt, Hiruma shot his semi-automatics into the air wildly and loudly proclaimed that it was _home-time, fucking kiddies_!

Monta, who Hiruma knew had already made plans to walk home with Sena, opened his mouth to protest, but Sena simply turned his head so that he could tilt his chin at everyone else without turning his torso away from Hiruma, silencing any potential outcries with nothing more than a look. He nodded to Hiruma's unspoken invitation after shooting the other, _lesser_ members of the team a reassuring smile, and the pair walked together for some distance until they found some privacy by the bleachers.

At last, Hiruma's patience snapped. Wanting to be absolutely sure, he held Sena's hands tight in the cage of his own long, claw-tipped fingers and glared penetratingly into Sena's eyes. His own eyes suddenly flickered to Sena's throat before returning to surprised hazel orbs, a hint of male satisfaction now gleaming within his own dark coloured depths. Sena's throat had been still. If he had gulped – emotional tension from the brain's limbic system causes unconscious muscular contractions of the Adam's apple – it would have meant that Sena found the situation uncomfortable. Hiruma very nearly crowed. He would have gotten what he wanted one way or another, but like _this_ was infinitely less hassle.

Grinning victoriously at his prize Hiruma swooped down and folded himself around the smaller, younger boy, his triumphant lips pressing into Sena's soft pair as he swallowed the younger's gasp.

Hiruma drew away slowly after several long and intense seconds, leaving Sena panting lightly, an odd light in his eyes. The Devilbat demon pressed another light kiss to those lips before pulling back enough to rest his forehead on Sena's and gaze at him with serious eyes, letting his frank gaze say what words probably never would.

_I love you. _

Sena smiled bashfully at the unspoken message, tightening his hold slightly around the demon's neck. He shrugged one shoulder helplessly, but his smile did not disappear, nor did he attempt to leave.

_I don't love you_, Hiruma interpreted. _And I'm a little scared of what loving you would mean… But I think that with time, I will. _

Hiruma smirked toothily and kissed him again, and this time Sena rose to meet him eagerly.

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A/N: One of several Eyeshield oneshots to be posted. Stay tuned for the rest, and feel free to request characters and/or themes for upcoming chapters. Don't forget to review!


	2. Meaning

**Theme: **Meaning

**Characters:** Sena

**Warnings:** None

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Sena had been running for almost as long as he could remember. Otherwise small, nervous and entirely unremarkable, running was his way of bringing himself into eloquence. It was how he spoke to people, how he communicated his sincerity and determination when words were clumsy and inefficient and lacking in blood-hot immediacy. It was how Eyeshield 21 bared himself to the world.

There was a time before Riku, there must have been, but Sena remembered that as just a long blur of bruises and empty swings in the playground. Sena didn't consider himself as having fundamentally become _Sena _until he had begun to run.

Boy with the golden legs, they called him.

Eyeshield 21.

They _screamed _it.

They screamed it in Japan, where 'amefuto' was all but unheard of; they screamed it in America, when he speaks in their voice. Those anonymous thousands off buses and trains roared his name – most said Eyeshield 21 but some said Sena, and they were pretty much interchangeable by then so Sena didn't mind either way, just so long as he could claim the vindicating throbbing behind the syllables for himself and know that this means _me_. They think, therefore I am.

It was not often that he had these thoughts though. It was only very rarely that his football career required any justification, whether to himself or others, beyond 'It's what I'm good at' or 'It feels great'. It was only sometimes, lying on a clean hotel bed, running a damp cloth over his aching legs, that he occasionally began to reflect on what being a football player actually _meant_.

He was at heart a simple person though, and had long ago concluded that 'amefuto' didn't mean anything except for everything, and that was enough for him to fall asleep happy.


End file.
